


Shellshocked

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2019-10-26 05:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17739977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: Willow visits Tara's grave and finds Spike paying his respects and full of philosophy.





	Shellshocked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rua1412](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Rua1412).



> Rua1412 asked for a Spike/Willow fic using the Thirty Seconds To Mars song “This is War” as a starting point.
> 
> Not very literal use of the song, but I hope I caught some of the feel.
> 
> This is set in season 7. Mentions of Willow/Tara.

Night was not the best time to visit one of Sunnydale’s cemeteries, but somehow it always felt the most appropriate. Willow wrapped her shawl more tightly, though there was no chill in the air. She needed a layer, something to cover and protect her, as she set forth to do what she’d avoided doing since arriving back home.  
  
She knew the way. Knew each tree and stone in the path, but she checked the little stone lot-markers along the sidewalk anyway. It gave her time. Graves were supposed to be a solace. Or maybe it was just that people erected memorials because they couldn’t do anything else.  
  
She steeled herself for the first sight of the stone, which she knew would come when she passed the last fat oak tree on her left. Her eyes found the leading edge of the tree. She couldn’t not look there, see it as soon as possible, as much as she’d rather never see it at all.  
  
What she saw, curling in the moonlight, was smoke.  
  
Closing the distance, she saw a white head, also reflecting the cool light of the moon. Spike glanced up at her from the base of the oak. “Red,” he said. It wasn’t quite a greeting. He drew one leg up. “I’ll be out of your way.”  
  
“You came to see Tara,” Willow said, and felt a tear forming. She bit her lip and looked beyond Spike, to the gravestone in front of him. A little bunch of wildflowers lay at its base.  
  
She didn’t hear him stand, but she saw his shadow move closer to hers. “It’s always the best ones,” he said. “We fight this war, never-ending, against evil. We get broken and all ugly inside from it, and them – the ones too good to be sullied – they’re the ones a bullet finds. Or an aneurism.” The cigarette hit the ground in front of Willow and smouldered in the wet grass.  
  
“L-littering,” Willow said, her throat suddenly too tight to work.  
  
Spike stepped on it. He turned to look at Willow, thankfully blocking her view of the grave, now. His eyes gleamed wetly. “Tara was the best of us. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. It was selfish of me, what I did… running off to try to prove myself in some grand, dramatic gesture. Should have accepted my guilt, punishment, ostracism, whatever. Should have stayed and helped. Maybe I could have done something.”  
  
“Stop,” Willow said. She put her face on his chest, let her tears leak into the black cotton of his t-shirt.  
  
His chest lifted and fell under her cheek. “’Spose you’re right. That’s selfish, too – the grief of ‘if only  _I_ ’… and I don’t regret it. The soul. It’s mine, isn’t it?” He set his hand on her back, not holding her, exactly, but a gentle, reassuring presence.  
  
Willow realized this is what she needed. The armor of an arm. She slipped her arms around his waist. “When did you become Mr. Philosophical?”  
  
“About the time I stopped being completely batshit, I suppose.” He kissed her hair at the top of her head. “I’ll leave you alone with your love.”  
  
“No… stay.” She tightened her arms around him and felt him stiffen.  
  
“You don’t want me here,” he said.  
  
Willow looked up. “Why? Because you’re a monster? A terrible person who has done unthinkable, unforgivable things? Way to be all about YOU, Spike. Because… because I am, too.”  
  
He cupped her face in his hands and shook his head, making soft, almost wordless sounds. “No, no, Red. You… love… love drives us to do…”  
  
“Terrible things? World-ending things? Whatever you did, or tried to do to Buffy… I did to Tara. I…” Tears welled up fresh and she forced herself, at last, to turn and confront the grave. The monument to what she lost and never deserved. “She told me not to use magic so much. She tried so hard to show me when I was going wrong. I… I…”  
  
Spike’s hands were firm, comforting on her shoulders. “We hurt the ones we love. Always hardest to listen to the ones you most care about. But she loved you, Red. To the very end.”  
  
Willow cried in earnest, then, bending forward, feeling the hole in herself, the loss. Spike gathered her into his arms, started to rock, gently, like a dance, rubbing her back. An unbidden thought entered her mind: did he do this for Drusilla? Was being crazy like what she was feeling now – the helplessness?  
  
“Let it out,” he said, “let it all out.”  
  
Willow hiccupped, the sobs coming under control. She felt lighter, empty. “I miss her so much,” she said.  
  
“I know, love. I know.”  
  
“I missed being touched.” She rubbed her cheek against him, finding a dryer spot on his shirt. “Thank you.” She felt him shift uncomfortably, the steady rocking faltered. She stepped back so she could look him in the eye, kept her hold on him. “I mean it – thank you. And I do want you to stay here. I need… I need someone to hold me.”  
  
“Sure, Red,” he said.  
  
They settled together with their backs against the old oak tree. There was a long silence, but it was not awkward. An owl hooted, the moon shone, and the tree branches swayed in a gentle breeze, spreading their soft sounds. It was a peaceful place. She hadn’t noticed that, before.  
  
His head resting against hers, Spike said, “She had great tits.”  
  
Willow covered her mouth. It was somehow the most appropriate, best thing to have said. When her lips stopped twitching in an attempt to laugh, she nodded. “She really did.”  
  
“Bet you loved to suck on ‘em.”  
  
Willow elbowed him gently in the ribs. “None of your business, mister.”  
  
He shrugged.  
  
They looked at each other a while. Willow didn’t know who had moved to close the distance first, but soon their lips were touching. Spike’s lips were as soft as Tara’s skin and Willow pressed into them. Their kisses were mixed with tears, but that was all right. It just felt so good to have someone to hold onto, like she’d been adrift until this point, unable to touch the ground.  
  
“The survivor, too, is a casualty of war,” Spike said, and it sounded like a quote from somewhere.  
  
“Let’s not talk, okay?” Willow asked, and settled into his lap, which was much more comfortable than the twig-strewn ground. He nodded.  
  
And, together, they didn’t talk all night.


End file.
